


Everything is Right

by insomniacjams



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniacjams/pseuds/insomniacjams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hjammer ends up living with Stalberg after his apartment burns down. Nothing really happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything is Right

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins during the 2013 playoffs which at this time have not happened. In this universe, the first round matchup is the Chicago Blackhawks and the Vancouver Canucks. This story also blatantly ignores any real life relationships and family members of all main characters, as well as Stalberg's free agency coming up in the 2013-14 season. This is ~10k of absolutely nothing important, and involves a few Swedish Blackhawks being cute. There may be references to Kaner/Tazer and Shaw/Bollig if you squint.
> 
> I'm supposed to be packing for my vacation, not writing. Oops.
> 
> This is something I threw together in a couple days so obviously it's unbeta'd and not high quality work. There are going to be a lot of mistakes.  
> When I get home at the end of August I'll probably go through and edit/revise it, but until then, this is here for your enjoyment.

Sometimes there are moments in life that just don't register until after it's all over. For Niklas, it's waking up disoriented and slightly dazed to the smell of smoke and the sound of sirens.

His neighbour is pounding on his door screaming, "Get the fuck out!" He does, because it feels like the right thing to do. He doesn't even register what's happening until he stands next to his neighbour in the parking lot of the diner across the street, watching their apartment flare up in the night like a sunrise. 

As the emergency crew checks over the tenants, Niklas realizes he's never talked to any of his neighbours before. He thanks the guy who slammed on his door again, but steps away from the group that gathered and resigns himself to waiting out the blaze alone.

He's wearing the first matching shoes he found, a pair of well-polished dress shoes he only puts on for PR events since they kind of pinch his feet, a pair of old jeans that are ripped at the knees, and a Blackhawks t-shirt that he usually only wears to bed or while cooking; it's got weird grease stains on the front of it, and he's glad there's nobody out at 4 in the morning to take his picture, sitting alone on a slightly damp curb, watching his makeshift life burn. 

To be fair, Niklas has more than enough money to repurchase everything he owned, and then some, even without the amount his insurance is sure to hand him in a few days. All his truly personal belongings were still locked in a safe somewhere in Eskjo, except the jersey in which he won his Stanley Cup (he can't lie; he's a little bit upset about that one).

He watches the fire department do their work, and when the diner opens, he fishes his wallet from his pants and buys enough coffee and food to feed a small army, or in this case, the suddenly homeless tenants of his former apartment building.

It's around seven when they are given the all-clear to search what's left of their homes for belongings. Niklas' apartment probably took the worst of the blaze, he figures, since according to one of the firemen, the source (seemingly an electrical fire) was just on the other side of his living room wall.

As expected, he doesn't manage to salvage much. What he does find is heavily water and smoke damaged, so he leaves most it behind. He picks up a pair of sneakers that will be fine once they dry, his favourite mug, a ceramic dollar store purchase with Garfield on the side that makes him laugh on the worst of days, and a frying pan- all of which he shoves in a mostly dry backpack.

Luckily all the cars in the lot are fine, and he thanks the lord over and over again that he'd been too tired to haul his gear bag inside after the game the previous night.

It isn't until he's behind the wheel of his car, his head spinning with the insurance claims and other legalities he's got to deal with, on top of the fact that he's got practice in just under half an hour, he realizes how utterly exhausted he is.

He thinks about driving to a hotel to make sure he has somewhere to sleep that night, but he drives to the UC instead, because he's running solely on caffeine and autopilot at this point.

He doesn't even make it through the front doors before he's ambushed by Shaw, who just happens to arrive at the same time. "What happened to you last night man? I thought you said you were going home to sleep! Did you get jumped by a party or something? You look like a wreck."

"My apartment burned down." He doesn't mean to say it at all, especially not like that, but it just comes out. He realizes he probably should tell management and just go find somewhere to sleep, but he's here anyway, and it's not like it was an optional skate.

Unfortunately for him, Shaw announces it to the locker room (which is mostly full; these guys are always early, Niklas will never understand it) as the two of them enter. "Niklas is homeless," he says, his voice loud, echoing around the suddenly silent room.

"What?" Johnny's head jerks up- that's Oduya's, not Toews, Toews is just very pointedly staring at a wall.

"My place burnt down this morning," Niklas sighs, wondering if his bag had always been that heavy. He dumps it in his stall and starts to take off his shirt, but is stopped by Patrick (Sharp, gosh his team needs to have a better variety in names) placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You should probably go lay down; I don't think you can skate like that and we don't need you getting hurt. We should talk to management too, and see if they can set you up with a place to stay after practice, but right now, you need to sleep."

"I'm fine, really," Niklas says, but he knows it doesn't sound convincing, and Patrick just rolls his eyes. Patrick enlists the help of the equipment manager, and they make him a makeshift bed on a bench in the equipment room, and Niklas likes to think it took more than two minutes for his eyes to close and his body to relax. 

"We'll wake you up after practice," Patrick says, and before Niklas can formulate an appropriate response in his head, he's already gone.

True to his word, Patrick wakes him a few hours later. He stretches out languidly, working the kinks out of his shoulder and neck before turning to his friend. "Thanks."

He goes through a quick meeting with the appropriate suits, ("I'll handle the insurance myself; yes, I can find somewhere to live on my own, and no I do not need a translator, nor should I be missing any more practices.") and wanders back into the locker room to grab his bag. 

"Hey, wait up," he hears, and slows to let Viktor fall in step at his left. "How's everything going?"

"Well, I'm tired, but the nap helped," Niklas switches to Swedish, because he doesn't have to _think_ so hard when he speaks his native tongue. He doesn't think about how much thought power goes into speaking English 24/7 until he doesn't have much left. "I'm just going to try and find a hotel; get some sleep, you know? Maybe I'll start looking for a place tomorrow if I have time before the game."

"Well, if you want, you can stay at my place for a while," Viktor offers casually, startling Niklas from his sleepy reverie. "I've got a spare bedroom that no one ever uses," he continues, "and you don't need to worry about anything except not getting eliminated from the playoffs by the fucking Canucks."

"I don't want to intrude," Niklas says, but he's already thinking of how much he does love Viktor's place, with its floor to ceiling windows, wraparound balcony, a buzzing electric fireplace with a wide hearth and the smooth black leather furniture.

"Yeah you do," Viktor jokes, jostling Niklas the slightest bit at his shoulder. "You've got enough to worry about with insurance claims and buying a new wardrobe, even if we weren't playing a crucial game tomorrow night. Besides, you look like if you try to drive right now, you'll fall asleep at the wheel."

"Oh, I get it. This is all an elaborate plot to get free rides to and from the rink every day," Niklas snorts, though he tosses his keys to Viktor anyway. "Don't crash her."

"Well if this is an elaborate plot, is it working?" Viktor asks as he opens the driver's side door. Niklas shrugs, tossing his bag into the backseat. 

"I can't complain; we like the same TV." Viktor smiles and Niklas grins right back with a dopey expression from the lack of sleep. "Thanks, really, I mean it," he says, as they turn out of the parking lot. "I was kind of freaking out about having to live in a hotel while worrying about the playoffs." He feels like he's thanked people about six billion times since he woke up this morning, and even then it doesn't feel like enough. 

"I know you'd be over every day anyway if that did happen," Viktor jokes, and Niklas leans his head casually against the window. He doesn't mean to fall asleep; it's in no way good for his neck and shoulders, but it happens anyway. 

He wakes up again when Viktor pulls into his parking spot, and gently shakes him to grab his attention. "Sorry," he says quickly, and reaches into the backseat for his few belongings before trailing after Viktor into the building.

"I just need to throw my things down; I'll be back out in a minute. Make yourself at home," Viktor says, even though Niklas has been to his place thousands of time before.

He waits patiently in the kitchen, poking thoughtlessly around the cupboards and fridge until he finds Gatorade and some crackers, and watches Viktor putter around his home, pulling apart his bag to air out sweaty gear, following through with his post-practice routine. Niklas feels creepy watching his friend, so he adds his frying pan and Garfield mug to the mismatched collection already in the dishwasher.

He's finished eating and giving his sneakers and quick scrub and wring in the sink when Viktor comes back, dressed in a pair of lounge pants and a tight fitting t-shirt stretched across his broad chest. "You can dry those over there," he points to the balcony where he's airing out his gear, even though Niklas has definitely been to his place enough to know where the balcony is (also, he's not a complete idiot). 

"Thanks," he says instead, and tosses his sneakers out with Viktor's smelly gear. 

"Here; you look like you need something more comfortable," Viktor says, and Niklas is immediately slapped in the face by a couple articles of clothing. He laughs, looking at the sweatpants and t-shirt. "We're almost the same size, but they'll be a bit big," Viktor says apologetically, and Niklas shakes his head.

"Don't apologize because you're bigger than me," he rolls his eyes, and disappears into the guest room to change. He strips fast; doesn't hesitate to toss his boxer-briefs into the pile as well. He knows he needs to go shopping soon, but first he definitely needs to wind down. He's doing well with the not freaking out part, but he doesn't know how long it will last.

It doesn't last much longer than what it takes for him to settle on the couch opposite of Viktor and turn on an episode of CSI: Miami. It feels comfortable, like he's supposed to be there, and then suddenly, it hits him like a Mack truck. "Viktor... My home burned down this morning."

"Eskjo's still in Sweden, and there haven't been any riots lately," Viktor jokes halfheartedly, but unfortunately it doesn't do much to distract Niklas.

"My home is gone. I have no clothes. I have no food. I'm homeless." His eyes are wide, pupils blown. He's trembling at his joints: his knees, elbows, wrists, and ankles quivering in shock. "I don't even have a phone! I didn't realize... Shit, I need a new phone."

"Yeah, and we can do that tonight, or tomorrow morning, when we buy you some clothes," Viktor says, scooting over on the couch to comfort his friend. "Look, I know it sucks right now, but what if your neighbour didn't wake you up? You probably wouldn't be here right now."

"I would've been fine," Niklas says stubbornly, but he knows it's not true. It feels oddly sobering, knowing he could've died. He runs over his recent memory for cases of house fires; he comes up with an inventory of permanently disfigured faces, and cringes. He packs that inventory back into the depths of his mind. He still hasn't stopped shaking.

"Maybe, but what matters is that you are now, okay? You can buy new things, no matter how much you dislike shopping." Viktor watches and Niklas nods slowly, as if he agrees. He's not too sure what he's feeling right now though, slowly sinking into the plush leather couch that's too soft under his hands- too cold. He feels like a leftover chocolate rabbit from Easter: expired, useless, bitter and hollow.

"I should try to sleep a little bit more," he says, because it's more polite than saying he wants to be alone with his emotionally draining train of thought. "I'm just going to... Yeah," he trails off, standing abruptly, and walking into the guestroom. Viktor doesn't follow.

The sheets on Viktor's guest bed are a pale blue, printed with small darker blue flowers. It smells like laundry detergent and dust, like nobody's touched them in a long time. Niklas hates the scent, but he burrows deep into them anyway, and squeezes his eyes shut.

The tossing and turning gets him through most of the afternoon, though by five he's starving and can't bring himself to hide anymore. He pokes his head into the hallway to see Viktor's nowhere to be found. There's a note left on the counter that says he's gone out to grab some take out. Niklas drops onto the couch with a heavy sigh, and watches some baseball without actually seeing anything, until Viktor returns.

They eat curry rice together out of plastic containers without saying much, baseball filling in the silence. Finally, after they're both long finished with their food, empty containers glaring them down from the coffee table, Viktor breaks the silence. "Thanks for staying." It feels weird, being thanked for it at first, but then Niklas realizes he's not being thanked for taking up space on the couch and watching someone else's television. He's being thanked for company.

"Sorry I'm no fun right now," he says instead, and Viktor shrugs. 

"You're homeless. If I were you, I'd be swearing up a storm and probably breaking everything in sight. I've known you long enough to know you can be anyway," he says, with a half-smile. It's true though, which makes Niklas mirror his expression. It's been three long years where he and Viktor first met, and leapt at the chance for the sound of something familiar, searching for tones of home as they spoke Swedish with each other.

They watch a bit more television, and Niklas eventually picks up a book off Viktor's shelf, and retires to the guest room, his room, he supposes, to read. Afterward, he thinks of the conversation he had earlier with Viktor, and sleep comes easy.

Niklas wakes up to the sound of a smoke detector beeping loudly from the hallway. In normal circumstances, he would smash a pillow over his head and go back to sleep, but in light of recent events, he jumps from the bed and rushes to the kitchen instead. 

"Sorry for waking you," Viktor says sheepishly from where he's reaching up to shut the thing off, his shirt rucking up to expose his stomach. Niklas rolls his eyes. 

"Seriously? What were you doing?"

"Making breakfast?" Viktor tries, and Niklas walks into the kitchen despite a few quick protests that follow. Viktor's idea of 'making breakfast' obviously includes a few burnt pieces of sausages in a pan, and the toaster now covered in coffee, with the remnants of burnt toast inside. "Want to go out?" He asks, as Niklas is analyzing the scene of the crime.

"You're an idiot," he says, which Viktor takes as a yes, and retreats to his room to change. Niklas trails after him, and when Viktor raises an eyebrow, he rolls his eyes again.

"I need to borrow clothes, asshole."

"Are you always such a sassy bitch in the mornings? I'm glad I don't room with you," Viktor says as he pulls open a drawer of his dresser, and throws some clothing at Niklas' general direction. He flails a bit to catch the wayward cardigan, and sighs.

"Only when I wake up to smoke alarms," he says, and returns to the guest room to change.

They eat at a hole-in-the-wall diner down the road that does amazing waffles, piled high with whatever one could imagine, and then some. Niklas pokes his confection, a mess of whipped cream and various berries. He looks over to Viktor's plate which is covered in bananas, powdered sugar, cheerios, and coconut shavings, and suddenly his looks much more appetizing.

"So, since it's optional skate, we're going shopping instead!" Viktor says gleefully as he waves his fork around. Niklas raises an eyebrow.

"We? I thought I was the one doing the shopping."

"Well, I thought you'd want someone to tell you how awful you look in the jeans you pick out," Viktor says. "At least one of us knows how to look good, which is one more than if you go shopping by yourself." Niklas doesn't think that merits a verbal response; instead, he balls up his napkin and tosses it at across the table. When he hits Viktor straight in the nose, he considers it a success.

Niklas finds shopping with Viktor surprisingly fun, despite the atrocious outfits he's forced to try on for entertainment value. The two of them blitz through shops and whirlwind through a shopping centre until the backseat of Niklas' car is stacked with bags of clothes and other basic needs. "I can't wait to get back to your place and brush my teeth," Niklas laughs. He'd used some of Viktor's mouthwash the previous night, and in the morning, but it certainly wasn't as satisfying as brushing his teeth is going to feel.

Viktor pulls the toothbrush out of the bag from the CVS they'd just stopped at, and waves it around as Niklas drives, taunting it with him. Niklas rolls his eyes, but somehow, having the idiot in the car with him makes the drive easier. "Thanks," he says, grabbing the toothbrush as soon as the car stops. Viktor lets out a witch-like cackle that makes Niklas cringe. "Let's go, I think it's nap time."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Viktor grins. "By the way, while you were grabbing underwear or whatever," Viktor adds as they dump his new things in the guest room, "I made another key." He tosses it on the bed next to the CVS bag. It's small and silver; utterly insignificant in size and shape, yet perhaps the most important thing that came from the shopping trip.

"I know we already do everything together, and you probably won't need it, but it'll make things easier if you want to come and go. I know, you're not planning to stay long, don't even say it," Niklas gets cut off before he can even talk, "but even when you move out, you hang out here so much anyway. I'd like you to have it."

"Thank you," Niklas says, and this time it feels like not enough 'thank yous' in the world can put what he feels into words, especially since it's not every day you are presented with the key to someone else's home. 

"Go get some sleep," Niklas tells Viktor, "because if you aren't well rested, we're not going to have playoffs to worry about anymore, and I'll be stuck here homeless _and_ without the Stanley Cup." Viktor rolls his eyes, but does leave the room.

Unfortunately for them, Niklas turns out to be right. Something's off about most of the team for whatever reason, and they fall to the Canucks with the final score of 4 to 3; they can't even bring the game into overtime and play some bonus hockey for a chance at redemption. 

Afterward, he doesn't need to look around the locker room to know what everyone looks like; they've done this before, they've been here before. He knows that Patrick's being too quiet, and that Patrick (Kane) wants to cry. Toews is doing post-game interviews and trying not to strangle everything in sight, while Crawford stews quietly in the corner. Shaw and Bollig are screaming at each other Kaner and Tazer style, and everyone else is off somewhere alone in their heads. He feels a presence behind him, and turns around to face Viktor.

"Want to go out tonight?" Viktor asks, and Niklas doesn't even need to say "Yes" because Viktor knows his answer.

"...And by the fucking Canucks of all teams, can you believe it?" Marcus is spewing bullshit, slurring and stumbling over to the table with a pint in his non-dominant hand, teetering dangerously toward the right. 

"Does someone else want to babysit?" Patrick asks, sliding into the booth after Marcus. "I need to get home soon; I got a wife and kid waiting for me at home, you know?"

"I would but I don't know if I get to go back tonight," Niklas groans, watching as two girls in spiked heels drape themselves over Viktor. "You know how he gets."

"I don't think he ever takes any of them home, you know," Patrick says, and Niklas shrugs.

"I never stick around long enough to find out. Usually I see it and I leave or look the other way for the rest of the night."

"I've never seen Stals take a puck slut home," Marcus volunteers, and it comes out in this garbled mix of Swedish and English that Niklas has a hard time wrapping his mind around. He's eight beers deep and he feels fine, so he sighs and waves Patrick off.

"I think it's time we get you home, and maybe I can sleep on your couch."

"You don't want to sleep on my couch," Marcus slurs, though in mostly comprehensible Swedish this time. "I don't want you to sleep on my couch, because Viktor will kill me."

"Viktor's not going to kill you for letting me sleep on your couch." Niklas tries to shove the younger man from the booth, but Marcus has his ass firmly planted to the vinyl. 

"Yes he will. He'll say you have to sleep on your couch. Just let me ask him- Hey, Stalberg!" Marcus calls before Niklas can stop him. He watches across the room as Viktor's head turns, and he then politely lifts the two girls off his body, and leaves them at the bar to talk to Marcus. Niklas sighs. 

"You're a cockblocking douche."

"He wasn't going to do anything with them anyway," Marcus giggles, sounding far too drunk to be this conscious. "He might be pretty but he's so gay he shits rainbows, he probab-" His voice is muffled as Viktor slaps a hand over his face. It mostly misses his mouth, but because Viktor's hand is over his face, and Marcus is drunk, the result is similar. 

Viktor opens his mouth to say something, but they're interrupted by Johnny who wanders over with a tray of assorted shots. He offers it around, and even though Niklas thinks it may be in his better interest not to accept strange alcoholic beverages from Oduya, he does anyway, because they're out of the playoffs, and fuck it, he's had a rough couple days.

The night gets fuzzy from that point forward; Niklas remembers dancing with a wiry redhead who looks like the girl from _Brave_ but with more hair, if possible, and her friend, a stocky blonde who really likes Swedes, apparently. When he finds out this tidbit, he moves away slowly, and ends up with a tropical drink in his hand, sparkling blue under the lights, complete with one of those toothpick umbrellas, courtesy of Shaw. 

He has no idea how he gets back to Viktor's place, but he does remember making love to the toilet immediately after (he thinks some yelling and bad singing in a taxi may have been involved, and he's happy he doesn't remember much). 

He wakes up in the morning in a bed that is not his own, nor the blue of Viktor's guestroom. The sheets are Blackhawks red, and Niklas is pressed up against a wall that feels hard and cold on his naked upper half. When he blinks away his hangover, he sees the other side of the bed is mussed up, like someone recently slept there. He figures out that this is Viktor's room, and groans.

The brunt of his hangover hits him like a bolt of lightning when he stumbles to the bathroom across the hall, and walks into Marcus, who's only wearing a pair of boxers. His hair is flat on one side, and Niklas figures he probably slept in the guest room, which was how he wound up in bed with Viktor.

Neither of them exchange words, too dazed to even imagine speech, and while Marcus heads for the kitchen, Niklas does his business in the bathroom and tries to scrub the favour of vomit from inside his mouth.

He finds a mug of coffee and a bottle of ibuprofen waiting for him in the kitchen, Viktor slumped over an old newspaper that he's looking at but not reading, and Marcus, looking like a zombie with bedhead leaning against the counter.

He downs the pills with the lukewarm coffee, and joins Viktor at the table. "Do you know where my phone is? I just bought it yesterday," Niklas grumbles, glancing half-heartedly around the small apartment. Marcus shrugs, even though the question had been directed at Viktor.

"I put it on the dresser in my room, since Marcus claimed yours," Viktor says, and Niklas goes to retrieve it. He turns it on, only to be bombarded by messages from his friends (what a joke, they were more work acquaintances than friends; other than the guys, he didn't know many people in Chicago) and his family offering condolences for the loss. He contemplates turning it off again, but settles for ignoring the messages instead.

"Did Tazer send you weird 'sorry' messages too?" Marcus asks, leaning casually against the doorway of Viktor's room, startling Niklas.

"I didn't check; just kind of skimmed through the list," he shrugs, looking around the room. "Are we going to get breakfast somewhere?"

"Sure," Marcus says, and wanders off. Niklas slumps onto the bed, and sighs, his face in his hands. He eventually gets up to rifle through Viktor's closet, because he's in his room anyway, and despite the new shirts, Niklas doesn't own anything he wants to wear.

He ends up with one of Viktor's striped button-ups that hangs just the slightest bit loose on his body. He thinks it looks okay though, so he heads back toward the kitchen to see if the others were ready to leave.

As he walks down the hallway, he catches the tail end of their conversation, as Viktor says, "...wake up with him in my bed and now he's been walking around all morning without a shirt on, and I'm too hungover to even enjoy it!" He sounds downright miserable, and Niklas wonders why Viktor is talking about him. He brushes it off though, because it's early, and Viktor's speaking English; it's not that his English is particularly bad, because he's sure he understood correctly, but he brushes it off anyway.

"Breakfast?" He offers, walking into the kitchen, and Viktor jerks his head up from where he'd been staring at the table. 

"Yeah, breakfast," Marcus says quickly, like speaking could cover the way that Viktor is openly gawking at Niklas, in his kitchen, wearing his clothes. Niklas chooses to ignore him; he just grabs his keys, and they drive to the nearest IHOP, top 40 radio hits and morning traffic reports filling the silence between them.

"What are your plans now that the season's finished?" Marcus asks, poking at his food with a fork, and then drowning his plate in syrup before he takes another bite. 

"Well, I still need to find a place to live," Niklas says, spearing a sausage link on his fork. Viktor rolls his eyes.

"You can stay with me longer than a few nights, you know? If you want to wait a few months before buying again, I'm not going to kick you to the curb."

"I don't want to-"

"You're not going to be in the way," Viktor says before Niklas can even finish his sentence. "It's nice to have someone around," Viktor says quickly, and his cheeks flush after, like he immediately regrets it. He ducks his head and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth so he doesn't speak again.

"Okay," Niklas smiles softly. "I guess I'll stick around for a while. Are you guys going back home at all this summer?"

"I'm going to look at plane tickets tonight and call my parents. I want to fly back to Stockholm in the next week so I'll have enough time to see the family before I come back to Chicago for training." Marcus says, and then glances at Viktor. "If you wind up back in Gothenburg, I could visit. I have an aunt there."

"I probably won't," Viktor says, almost sadly. "My parents don't think too highly of me 'running away to America to play hockey' and it's a waste of a plane ticket to go home where I have no friends just for my mother to lecture me when she can do it over the phone. Are you planning to go back?" He asks Niklas, who shrugs.

"Maybe for a week or two in June or something, but right now definitely not. We can hang out in Chicago together while Marcus leaves us."

"Fuck off, I see you ten months of the year at least. I'm allowed to be sick of you by now." It's not particularly funny, but Viktor laughs and they fall on to lighter topics easily after that.

Niklas drops Marcus off after breakfast, and then he and Viktor head back to the apartment after a quick stop for some groceries (which they spend mostly arguing about the better flavour of Gatorade; Viktor is wrong, because orange is disgusting).

"So," Niklas starts conversationally as he puts away the groceries in the fridge, "would you like to tell me why I woke up in your bed this morning?" He's mostly joking; he can't imagine it having been Viktor's fault any more so than Marcus', or his own for that matter, considering how much they all drank the previous night. He doesn't expect to see Viktor flush and stammer.

"Marcus insisted on sleeping in your bed like a starfish, and I didn't want you to hurt your back on the couch," Viktor mumbles, like he feels bad that he cares about the well-being of Niklas' health.

"Thanks for thinking of my back," Niklas says, and brushes it off, because he's not too sure he wants to know what's going on in Viktor's head anyway. "I'm just surprised all three of us found a bed."

Viktor stretches out across the couch, and Niklas curls himself up at his feet, because the couch provides a better view of the TV than the chairs at either side. They quickly agree to start a Die Hard marathon, and they fill the rest of their afternoon and evening with extra buttery popcorn and Bruce Willis, kicking each other on occasion.

Their companionable silence ends halfway through the third movie. "I really thought we had it this year," Viktor says so quietly that Niklas wasn't sure he spoke at all, his voice muffled even more by the explosions from the movie. "We were doing so well; we had that point streak at the start of the season..."

"Yeah, me too," Niklas says, stretching his legs out over Viktor's, because he doesn't want to put them on the table.

"I mean, I was hoping, you know? When I watched you guys win the cup the year before I joined the team, I thought I'd finally have a chance at one. Now, I don't even know if I'm still going to be in Chicago next year."

Of all the things Niklas has seen in his life, he can't think of anything that compares to seeing Viktor cry. Niklas, he's done it before; he has a cup. It doesn't make it any easier, but he knows what to expect more so than the first time around. He's been a Blackhawk for a long time. He knows what he's going to feel by now, and knows how to handle it. Even though it's been three years of failure for him, Niklas can accept that Viktor doesn't.

He thinks about how he felt when he watched his apartment getting hosed down by firefighters, and he thinks of how he felt sitting on this very couch, watching CSI: Miami and realizing what had happened. He figures this must be exactly how Viktor feels, except with slightly more tears. He doesn't know if he can handle that.

"Hey, come here," he says finally, because Niklas isn't actually an asshole and isn't going to sit there while the closest thing he has to a best friend is crying about the Stanley Cup, or in his case, a lack thereof.

He doesn't expect Viktor to flop across the couch and bury himself into Niklas' armpit; it's not something Niklas ever thought he'd see in his lifetime. Even still, he awkwardly rubs his back for a bit, and turns his attention back to the movie on the TV.

After a while, there's definitely a damp patch on his shirt (or, well, Viktor's shirt that he's wearing) but the crying has turned into soft snuffling, so Niklas figures it's safe to talk. "I'm going to make dinner. What do you want?" Viktor stares at him; his eyes are red and swollen. He looks a little lost.

"You're... Making?" 

"That wasn't a sentence," Niklas says, and gently pushes his friend into an upright position. "Yes, I'm making dinner. I do know how to cook, sometimes. What do you want?"

"Anything you make is fine," Viktor says, then rubs his hands over his face. "Sorry for leaking all over you."

"S'fine," Niklas waves him off, walking into the kitchen. "Spaghetti and meatballs?" Viktor laughs.

"Meatballs? You? Really?"

"Oh, shut up," Niklas rolls his eyes, but puts on a pot of water for spaghetti anyway. 

"Anything I can do to help?" Viktor suddenly appears over his shoulder and Niklas smiles. 

"Cut up some of the vegetables in the fridge?" 

Together, they manage to make a meal that actually looks edible, which is more than Viktor can say he's done for himself in a long time. "Thanks for the food, Nik," he says, and Niklas smiles at how easily the nickname rolls off Viktor's tongue, because in all the years he's been around, Viktor's never called him Nik.

"Thanks for putting a roof over my head," Niklas returns, and the two finish their meal making small talk about the upcoming team meeting and events to follow their Stanley Cup blowout. 

They end up in Viktor's room after dinner, since that's where the Xbox is. Niklas keeps getting his head blown off in COD and it's getting increasingly frustrating, but neither of them feels up to playing NHL 13 and it's the only other game Viktor owns.

They keep playing until their controllers are lost in favour of wrestling across the bed, which turns into arguing over who lays out more hits against the Stars. Niklas isn't sure how it happens, but at some point ends up stripping off the t-shirt he's wearing, and putting on the same pair of sweats Viktor hit him in the face with a couple days ago.

They both lie across the bed, limbs spread out sloppy and careless. Viktor puts in a new CD he'd acquire from somewhere, and Niklas ends up falling asleep like that, on top of the blankets, listening to some American band crooning about love.

He wakes several hours later, with Viktor, a heavy weight sprawling over him. "So it's like that, huh?" He says quietly, and he doesn't mean to wake Viktor, but he does, which results in a deep flush and frantic scrambling on his end. Niklas rolls his eyes; lifts the blanket from under them, and tosses it so it mostly covers them. 

"Go back to sleep," says Viktor, who has calmed down. He looks kind of freaky, lying there staring at Niklas. 

"Sorry?" Niklas tries, because he's not too sure what he's supposed to do in this situation, except maybe go back to his own bed, but it's too damn late for that, and he's halfway to asleep anyway. He's asleep again before Viktor gets the chance to respond.

Viktor wakes up in Niklas' arms, but there really isn't time to be awkward about it, because both of them forgot to set alarms the night before, and they're going to be late for practice if they don't get moving.

While Viktor is in the shower, Niklas curses the coffee-logged toaster, and grabs an apple instead. Viktor stumbles out of his room fully dressed (though missing a shoe); Viktor tosses an apple at his head, and grabs his keys. He's not exactly early all the time, but he's not going to be late, goddamnit.

Viktor's still mostly asleep in the passenger seat, so Niklas turns the radio off and lets him doze all the way to the arena, before he pulls into the lot. "Alright, get up," he barks in Viktor's ear, startling him from his snooze.

"Sorry," he mumbles, and the two make their way inside the UC, just in time. They wake up enough to actively participate in the post-playoffs activities; they converse with their teammates like normal people, and they even end up grabbing lunch with a few of them after. 

Marcus, Andrew, Brandon, Patrick Sharp, Patrick Kane, and Captain Serious himself are all crammed in a booth in the corner of the small diner they like when Niklas and Viktor arrive. They push their teammates aside to make space; Viktor ends up pressed right up against Niklas, a warm and solid weight to his left. 

"How's living with Stalberg?" Marcus asks Niklas, smirking a bit in Viktor's direction. "Has he burnt his apartment down too?"

"Almost did," Niklas smiles, and Andrew's eyes widen.

"Did he actually? Or like, was that a really bad joke?"

"I might've set a toaster on fire," Viktor says sheepishly, which gets the whole table laughing, complete with a retelling from Niklas about how Viktor put the fire out with his coffee. 

They hang out with the boys for a bit, and end up stopping at a shopping mall on the way back to the apartment. Niklas buys a copy of Saints Row 2, and insists on playing it when they get back to the apartment, which is how they both end up wrestling in Viktor's bed again, after dinner.

"I need to go to the gym more," Viktor laughs when Niklas pins him to the mattress for the third time in a row. Niklas laughs, because he's used to people thinking he's small; he's not too sure how he got that stigma to his name, but he always surprises people with how well he knows how to throw his weight around, and Viktor is only a slight bit broader than he is.

"Probably," Niklas admonishes, though he definitely doesn't mean it, and accompanies his statement with a friendly poke to the stomach, which is how he accidentally finds out that Viktor is ridiculously ticklish. Niklas has his weak spots, but even then he knows he won't melt into a mess of flailing limbs like Viktor is under him. Viktor's trying to fight him off, so naturally, Niklas grabs his wrists and pin them down to the bed, above his head.

"You're an asshole," Viktor huffs, but it's said with a lopsided grin, so Niklas thinks he can't really be that bad. "You should get off me now," he adds.

Niklas pretends to think about it for a moment, before he smirks. "Nah, I think I'm comfortable here," he says, and flops down on Viktor's stomach; he lets go of his wrists, and just lets his head rest against the broad chest under him.

"Asshole and you know it," Viktor sighs, but he drops a hand down over Niklas' back. They stay like that, silent, for a long time. Niklas listens to the beat of Viktor's heart, and Viktor starts tracing patterns onto his back. 

Suddenly, the fingers on Niklas' back still. "Sorry," Viktor mumbles, lifting his arm and placing it back on the bed.

"Why'd you stop?" Niklas asks, and Viktor shrugs; Niklas can feel the muscles ripple underneath his body. "It doesn't bother me," he says, and Viktor slowly puts his hand back on Niklas' back. After a few moments, the finger movements start up again, tracing thoughtless shapes. Niklas smiles against Viktor's chest, and they fall asleep like that.

They wake up in the middle of the night long enough to fight off their shirts, and slip under the blankets before falling asleep again. The next morning, Niklas has his arm looped lazily around Viktor's waist, the other man pressed flush against his chest. He can feel Viktor breathing from somewhere near his neck; nervous, uncertain breaths that give away how awake he is.

"You alright?" Niklas asks. His voice is scratchy from sleep; it rumbles deep from his chest, and he's sure Viktor can feel it from how close he's lying. He feels Viktor stiffen, so he runs a hand along his back, trying to soothe him best he can.

"Yeah, I'm good," Viktor says finally, quiet. He tries to shift back a little, but he's obviously comfortable where he is, so Niklas keeps him in place with a gentle press of his hand.

"Stay there, yeah? It's early, we can go back to sleep." Viktor doesn't respond, but he stays put. Niklas keeps rubbing his back, because he thinks it might comfort him. 

They lie together for what feels only moments, though it's really a couple hours that pass; Viktor falls back to sleep, though Niklas does not. It feels strange to Niklas, having someone in his arms. He hasn't had anyone to hold in a few months, and even then, not for longer than a night. He doesn't think about how the person in his arms is Viktor; it just isn't something he wants to think about. Instead, he just lets himself get lost in the feeling.

When Viktor wakes up the second time and pulls away, Niklas lets him. "Nik..." Viktor trails off, and Niklas focuses on him.

"Hmm?"

"What are we doing?" The poor man looks so confused; his lips twisted downward, his eyes wary, like he thinks Niklas could lash out at him any moment. On second thought, he looks scared.

"There's this thing people do sometimes, with people they care about. I think they call it cuddling, but it's really not endangered or anything," Niklas says, raising an eyebrow. "I thought that was pretty clear."

"No, I mean... Why are we doing...? Why are we cuddling?" Viktor, bless him, looks like he swallowed something down the wrong pipe. He can't keep a pained expression off his face, and Niklas immediately feels guilty.

"It feels right," he says firmly; he's tempted to say it feels like something he should do, especially since Viktor's the one putting a roof over his head and so obviously wants to be in his company, but doesn't say it thinking it might be rude. Also, it's true that it just feels right- there's no way he can deny it.

"Right, okay," Viktor sighs, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Want to come to the gym with me?" He gives up on the conversation since Niklas obviously isn't following his unspoken prompts. 

"Sure," Niklas says, and heads off to the bathroom to change. Viktor buries his face in his hands, and groans. He doesn't know why it makes so much sense to the other man; he doesn't know how he can hold him through the night, and wake up the next morning acting like nothing strange happened. Viktor gives up the puzzle he can't solve, and decides he needs coffee instead.

When Niklas enters the kitchen, there's coffee in his Garfield mug waiting for him on the counter, and Viktor is nowhere to be seen. He grabs the mug and wanders into the bedroom where he catches Viktor trying to pull on a pair of shorts. He must've startled him, because he lets out a high-pitched yelp, and immediately blushes when he sees it's just Niklas.

"Sorry, I just wanted to thank you for the coffee. Carry on," Niklas chuckles, leaning against the doorframe to admire Viktor as he finishes dressing. Feeling incredibly self-conscious with Niklas' eyes on him, Viktor hastily finishes clothing himself, and the two of them head out for the gym. 

The two fall into an easy pattern after that day. They wake up together, spend the morning at the gym, eat out for lunch, and spend their days outside at the park, grocery shopping, or doing other oddly domestic things. In the evening, Niklas cooks dinner and Viktor hovers; he tries to help where he can. After they eat and clean up, they spend the night playing video games in Viktor's room, and always end in a wrestling match, and Niklas falling asleep in Viktor's bed. In the morning, Niklas ends up wearing Viktor's shirts more often than his own. 

It's a seamless routine that takes up most of May; they don't talk about what they're doing, but they don't avoid it either. It's just a thing now, and Viktor accepts how easily Niklas becomes such a major part of his life. They're practically joined at the hip now, since they never do anything apart anymore.

Neither of them thinks much about it when Marcus asks if he can stay with Viktor for a week; he's in the middle of clearing things out of his old apartment, and moving into the new one closer to the UC. Viktor's place is conveniently located in the middle of the two apartments. It just makes sense.

When Marcus goes to put his things by the couch, Viktor looks confused. "Why are you leaving your things there? I have a guest room."

"Isn't Hjammer still staying with you?" Marcus asks, because he's equally confused. He's sure he hasn't heard anything about Niklas moving out of Viktor's place while he was in Sweden for a couple weeks. 

"Yeah, don't worry about it," Viktor says waving his hand around vaguely toward the guest room. "The room is yours."

"Uh, sure, okay, thanks," Marcus says, and wanders into the guest room. There are a few jackets and shirts that clearly belong to Niklas in the closet, and a pair of dress shoes in a corner, but not much else to show that someone else has claim to the room, so Marcus tosses his suitcase beside the bed and heads back into the kitchen.

"Hey Krugs," Niklas says, walking through the door with a six pack of something or other, and an armload of groceries. "How was your trip home?"

"The family's good. Still alive, I guess," Marcus shrugs. "I'm back early, I know," he rolls his eyes. "There's only so much 'mothering' I can take before I go insane."

"You're twenty," Viktor scoffs. "You can use the mothering."

"Well sorry I'm not old as you idiots," Marcus sighs, and begins poking at the bag of groceries that Niklas brought in.

"Right, how long are you staying again?" Niklas asks, raising an eyebrow as he tosses the steaks into the fridge.

"Definitely long enough to eat that," Marcus says, his mouth watering at the thought of a good old American barbeque. Viktor rolls his eyes.

"I guess I'll start the grill," he says; that's how the three of them end up on the balcony eating steak and mashed potatoes, arguing about the probability of Tazer spontaneously combusting.

When they finish, Viktor makes Marcus load the dishwasher while he and Niklas rifle around the kitchen for cake, because it's the off season, they're allowed to have their damn cake once in a while.

Cake is followed by the three of them collapsing in the living room; Marcus curls into a tight ball on a recliner, while Niklas and Viktor take their usual places on opposite ends of the couch. The latest Batman movie has Christian Bale splayed out across the TV, and Marcus and Niklas are focused, but Viktor isn't.

He's absentmindedly running his hands over Niklas' ankles, just feeling the skin underneath his fingers. He doesn't even notice he's doing it until he catches Marcus staring at him from the recliner. "Dude, what?"

"Why are you playing with Niklas' feet?"

"I'm not," Viktor says, but when he looks down, his fingers are wound around Niklas' ankles. He promptly drops them, blushing. "Maybe I am. I don't know."

"He just does that sometimes," Niklas says turning to face his friends. "I don't mind," he adds, for Viktor's benefit. 

"You guys are fucking weird," Marcus says, but he doesn't say anything else for the rest of the movie, and a few scenes later, Viktor's hands find Niklas' ankles again.

They end up bringing the Xbox into the living room and playing Halo, yelling increasingly louder at each other until Viktor dies for what feels the hundredth time, gives up, and throws his controller at the wall. "Fuck this, I'm going to bed." Marcus stretches and agrees, watching as Niklas fetches the controller than Viktor tossed and turns off the Xbox and TV.

"So, do you like, sleep on the couch or something?" Marcus asks Niklas awkwardly after Viktor disappears into his room. 

"Nope," Niklas says, popping the 'P' and rolling his eyes. He stands up and starts down the hallway, but stops when Marcus gapes at him. 

"You're sleeping with Viktor?"

"It's just a thing," Niklas shrugs easily. "It feels right, so we do it."

"You're... You guys are..."

"We're not fucking," Viktor rolls his eyes as he sticks his head into the hallway. "What do you want, Krugs?"

"Nothing, it's just, well... You share a bed with Hjammer?"

"I don't think it's weird," Niklas shrugs, and turns to Viktor, who's kind of staring at him now. "It's not weird."

"You know, for most people I'd say yes, but really, for you guys, this isn't weird at all. I'm going to sleep. Enjoy married life," Marcus waves them off, disappearing into the guest room. Viktor and Niklas are left staring at each other in the hallway.

"Uh, right," Viktor says sheepishly when he realizes he's blocking the door to the bedroom. "Yeah." He mumbles, moving aside to let Niklas into the room. "So, you told Marcus we're sleeping together?"

"We are," Niklas shrugs as he peels off his shirt and kicks off his pants (he's given up in sleeping in sweats; it's too hot this time of year, and having a body next to him only adds to the heat). 

"We're not, though," Viktor sighs, sounding frustrated as he strips as climbs into the bed next to Niklas. "Sleeping together, I mean."

"If we're not, then we should be," Niklas says, like it's the most normal thing to propose to the friend you've been sharing a bed with for almost a month for no apparent reason. In hindsight, it probably is.

"Do you, uh, do you want to?" Viktor asks, sliding easily into Niklas' arms. It feels normal now, to sleep like this; they gravitate toward each other without thought during the night anyway.

Niklas presses a kiss to the top of Viktor's head; Viktor shivers, and edges closer, if possible. "Maybe one day, maybe even soon," Niklas says, smiling into Viktor's hair. "We'll do it when it feels right." 

"How do you know?"

"Because it'll happen," Niklas says easily, like he knows the answers to the universe's problems. Viktor lies still, and listens to Niklas' breathing even out. It takes him a long time to fall asleep that night.

Marcus works his way into their routine easily; he fits where something was missing before- someone to point out when they need to pick up more food, or to remind Viktor he needs to vacuum. He's there, easily melded into their lives, and then he's gone, moved into his new apartment.

Viktor keeps waiting for something to happen after Marcus leaves; he waits for a sign from the universe to show him when it's going to feel _right_. He feels like he's been waiting a lifetime and then some for Niklas to make a move, and even now, Marcus is right, they're practically married.

However, being practically married in this world doesn't equate to currently having sex, and Viktor's becoming increasingly frustrated over the lack of attention his dick is getting when he gets to sleep next to the most gorgeous man he's ever met every night.

He ignores it, mostly, except when he showers, in which case he just imagines what Niklas might feel like, pressed warm and hard and desperate against his body. It never takes him long to get off anymore; Viktor doesn't know whether he should be embarrassed or not. 

Niklas leaves to buy that weird oatmeal cereal he likes one day in mid-July, sometime after they get home from training. Viktor isn't home alone very often, so he takes advantage of his alone time. He strips down and has his hands around his dick in record time, which is probably why he doesn't hear Niklas reenter the room. 

The bed dips behind him, and Niklas presses against his back. "Couldn't even wait until I left the building, huh?" He asks, and Viktor lets out a soft yelp as Niklas replaces the hand on his dick with his own. The hand feels different than what Viktor is used to. It's rougher, but the touch is softer. The touch makes Viktor feel things he's never felt before. He doesn't last nearly as long as he thought he would.

After, Niklas presses hard against his back, but when Viktor reaches around to touch him, he pulls away with a soft kiss to the back of Viktor's neck. "Sorry, I still need cereal. I just forgot my wallet," he says, getting off the bed and grabbing his wallet from the nightstand. After Niklas leaves, Viktor lets out a guttural groan and flops down on his bed in frustration. It probably looks ridiculous since he's still naked. He doesn't care; no one's around to laugh at him anyway.

Over the next few weeks, Niklas catches Viktor off guard by soft kisses on the neck, cheek, and sometimes the collarbone. He slips his hands into Viktor's boxers some mornings when they lie together, droopy-eyed and lazy, or nights when they toss and turn and twist around each other in a sleepless daze.

At first, he doesn't let Viktor reciprocate, running off to the bathroom, or turning away when he's finished. One morning though, they lie sleepily next to each other, and Viktor asks, "Why can't I touch you?" Niklas frowns, lines creasing his forehead, like he's not too sure himself.

"Do you want to?"

"I always want to touch you," Viktor says quickly, because it's the truth. Lately, he's had a bit of a hard time keeping more than a breath away from Niklas, and he's thankful for how touchy Niklas can be sometimes, with his lips grazing over sensitive skin, or fingers brushing his stomach between where his shirt rides up and his belt. "Will you let me?"

Niklas answers by winding his fingers in Viktor's, and sliding his hand into the front of his underwear. Viktor figures he's okay with this development. He also figures that if he wants things from Niklas, all he has to do is ask. It gets easier after that, and they fall into an easy rhythm of hands; of gentle touches and tentative kisses showered on any and every surface that wasn't the lips.

Their first real kiss comes in the shadow of fireworks. They're sprawled out on a chair on Viktor's balcony watching the Fourth of July celebrations light up the night sky. Viktor shifts nervously under Niklas' weight; he's always wanted a kiss under fireworks, and now's his chance. He leans in a few times, and then chickens out at the last minute. 

Niklas responds by pressing his hands up Viktor's shirt, and catching him full on the lips. It's a sloppy kiss, and Viktor's smiling too hard for it to really work, but it's still the best kiss Viktor's ever had. The sky lights up in red, white, and blue. It's absolutely gorgeous. Niklas kisses him through the fireworks, and into bed, where there's less smiling and more tongue.

At the beginning of August, they leave their nest and spend some time with the guys, because Marcus keeps insisting they need to be more social. Viktor argues that between keeping two grown men fed, clothed, and entertained on their training schedule is rough, but Niklas laughs it off and agrees for both of them that they need a night out.

Their night out finds them at a sports bar not too far from the apartment with a group of guys from the team, and more beer than Niklas has seen since their post-playoff night out.

"How's the apartment hunt going?" Patrick asks, and Niklas remembers he's supposed to be looking for a new place to live instead of bumming around Viktor's place. Before he can answer though, Viktor speaks.

"He's not looking," is Viktor's answer, and Patrick stares at them.

"Why not?"

"He doesn't need to," Viktor answers for him again, and Niklas grins, tightening his grip on Viktor's thigh. Patrick leaves them, because apparently he thinks they're codependent freaks to spend too much time together, and his vacant seat is taken by Marcus.

"How'd you scare Sharpy away?" He asks, as they clink their beers together. "You need to teach me your tricks guys."

"I don't know," Viktor shrugs. "We were being normal. He just kind of... Left."

"Ah, you were being normal. That would do it," Marcus says understandingly, before grinning at Niklas. "So, are you glad you left your love nest tonight boys?"

"We don't have a love nest," Viktor sputters, the same time as Niklas shakes his head.

"I'd rather be sleeping." As he says this, his hand creeps further up Viktor's thigh, causing him to flush an obnoxious shade of red, and choke on his beer.

"Right, sleeping," Marcus says, scrutinizing the stony expression on Niklas' face, looking for a hint of what he was doing to make Viktor angrily sputter in his beer. "You know, I think I'm just going to go join Sharpy now," he says quickly, and scampers off to find the others. 

Niklas laughs as soon as Marcus leaves the table; his hand is lowered to a safer position on Viktor's thigh, though the blush doesn't go away.

"What was that?" Viktor groans, and smacks Niklas on the head. 

"Nothing," he shrugs nonchalantly. "Want to go home?"

Viktor doesn't think about that one. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

The sex isn't a giant leap; they've been dancing around it for months, with hand jobs and blow jobs and everything in between. When it finally happens, it's almost anti-climactic. It still feels good- it's still sex, after all, but it isn't anything special. Niklas doesn't actually shoot butterflies out of his dick, and Viktor's pretty sure his ass isn't made of candy, so it's sex, and sex is a very normal thing they do.

The first time they're both a little bit drunk, but the morning after they aren't, and three rounds later, Viktor can't even try to justify it. It's something he's wanted for so long that it doesn't feel real, but it's happening, and he doesn't question why, because it just feels so _right_. Suddenly, he understands how Niklas just lets life happen sometimes. He understands that sometimes, things just fit together like they should. Like they do.

Niklas doesn't think he's ever had life come this easy. He wakes up one morning in late August with Viktor in his arms and the day off with no plans, except maybe laundry, and trying to roast a turkey that they bought the day before for the sake of it.

It's all so oddly domestic, something he never thought he'd achieve with anyone, nonetheless Viktor, and especially not because his apartment burned to the ground. He just takes a moment, and lets it all sink in. His life is pretty damn great sometimes, and from the way Viktor reaches up to kiss him, he agrees.

Sometimes there are moments in life that just don't register until after it's all over. For Niklas, it's waking up and realizing that somewhere between the awful week where his apartment burned down and he lost his second chance at a Stanley Cup, and waking up next to Viktor on the first day of the new season, he fell in love.

_And for the first time in his life, everything is right._

**Author's Note:**

> Relevant:  
> 


End file.
